


You Must Do It Without Breaking

by embroiderama



Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, Food Issues, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 13:52:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Neal went back to prison after Kate's death, he didn't deal with it very well. When Peter got him out again, Neal wasn't ready to put the anklet back on and go rob a bank right away--not by a long-shot. (AU for Withdrawal)</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Must Do It Without Breaking

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a [](http://azertynin.livejournal.com/profile)[**azertynin**](http://azertynin.livejournal.com/)'s [prompt](http://whitecollarhc.livejournal.com/89751.html?thread=855447&#t855447) on the [](http://whitecollarhc.livejournal.com/profile)[**whitecollarhc**](http://whitecollarhc.livejournal.com/) Prison Block Party several months ago; it just took me this long to finish it. Thank you to [](http://rabidchild.livejournal.com/profile)[**rabidchild**](http://rabidchild.livejournal.com/) for betaing and to [](http://theatregirl7299.livejournal.com/profile)[**theatregirl7299**](http://theatregirl7299.livejournal.com/) and [](http://angelita26.livejournal.com/profile)[**angelita26**](http://angelita26.livejournal.com/) for reading and helping me figure out some plot issues. The title is from the poem [Preparation for the Big Emptiness](http://agathokakologi.livejournal.com/2680.html) by Kapka Kassabova.

“Where exactly are we going?”

The guard leading Peter through the prison kept walking, and Peter looked around, trying to get his bearings. They’d passed the visitation rooms two turns back, and Peter really didn’t like not knowing where he was being led. A prison was never a comfortable place to be, even with a visitor’s pass clipped to his jacket, and the deeper they walked into the building, the tighter Peter’s shoulders felt. The fact that he didn’t have his badge on him only made it worse. They walked another hundred yards or so, went around another corner, and Peter saw a sign that made the tension in his shoulders ratchet up to the level of instant headache: _Infirmary._

The silent guard led Peter up to a doorway, then knocked and held the door open to reveal a woman in a doctor’s coat sitting behind a desk piled with charts. She looked up from her computer and gestured for Peter to enter. “Agent Burke?”

“What happened?”

“Please have a seat. I’m Dr. Neuman.”

“What. Happened? Neal was supposed to be in AdSeg, so who screwed up and let him get hurt?”

“What?” The doctor looked confused, and Peter was about to make somebody pay if it turned out Neal had been in GenPop. “No, he wasn’t injured. He’s ill.”

“Oh.” Peter deflated, righteous anger partially dissipated, and sat down in one of the chairs across from the doctor’s desk. “What’s wrong with him?”

“We’ve had a virus going around. With most of the affected prisoners, we’ve been able to treat them and send them back to their units, but Mr. Caffrey’s having a tougher time. From what I’m seeing now versus the records from when he was processed in several weeks ago, it looks like he hasn’t been eating, maybe not sleeping, I don’t know. If he seemed to give a damn about anything, I’d think it was a hunger strike, but whatever the root cause, he’s weak, so the virus knocked him flat.”

Peter rubbed a hand over his face, trying to calm down and trying not to visualize the grief that had been in Neal’s eyes when he was taken away with the ash from the explosion still in his hair. “Should he be in a real hospital?”

“That’s not necessary. He’ll be okay, we just need to keep him here on an IV for a few days, give his body a chance to recover from the virus. We’ll get him set up with psych before we send him back to his unit but it might take a while before they can actually fit him into the schedule.”

“Okay. If all goes well I should have him out of here soon, but I do need to see him. Is he awake at all?”

Dr. Neuman nodded and stood up. “I’ll take you to him.”

~~~

Neal was curled up on a gurney, his face gray over the orange scrubs, and Peter could see the truth of the doctor’s words in the bone structure that was too visible through the scruff of a few days’ accumulated beard. Peter pulled over a battered stool and sat down where Neal would be able to easily see him if he opened his eyes. He reached out and cupped his hand around Neal’s shoulder, wincing at the fragility of it.

“Neal.” Peter shook him gently, then tried again slightly louder. “Neal!”

Neal opened his eyes wide and looked around, his breathing unsteady until he finally met Peter’s gaze. “Hey,” he said, his voice rough and weak.

“Hey.” Peter lightly squeezed Neal’s arm and then let go. “You’re not looking so good.”

“Don’t feel so good,” Neal murmured. He winced and moved his hand, IV tubing trailing, to cover his stomach.

“You need me to get the doctor?” Neal shook his head, so Peter pushed on. He didn’t really like the idea of trying to talk business with somebody as sick as Neal looked, but he had to make sure Neal was on the same page with him in regards to renewing their deal. The way it looked, he thought he might need to _get_ Neal on the same page. “Okay, I need you to try to focus here for a few minutes. Can you do that?”

Neal nodded, so Peter opened up his folder and went over his plans. Neal didn’t seem excited—didn’t seem capable of being excited—but he didn’t argue, and Peter took that as a tentative win. Neal’s eyes drifted closed, and Peter wrapped his hand around Neal’s wrist, careful to avoid the IV line. “Hey, look at me a minute.” Neal opened his eyes, and Peter’s gut clenched at the exhaustion there. “I need you to be on your feet when I get you out of here, so whatever’s going on in your head you’ve got to get around it and start taking care of yourself the best you can in here. Eat.”

Neal frowned. “That’s not really on the table right now.”

“I know.” Peter sighed. “But when you’re feeling better, just do your best. Okay? I’m going to get you out of here.”

Neal just looked at Peter for a long moment and then closed his eyes and fell asleep. Getting Neal out of prison wasn’t going to fix everything, but Peter didn’t see any other way to even start.

~~~

The process had taken longer than Peter wanted, and during those weeks Peter hadn’t been able to get back upstate to visit Neal again. He had his badge back, but the situation was far from settled and he had to play by the rules and make the best possible impression. What would be seen as recreational visits to a convict didn’t fit in with that goal. When Peter walked back into the prison to collect Neal, he could only hope that the man who walked out would look a lot better than he had in the infirmary.

At first glance, Peter was relieved; Neal was dressed in the suit he’d worn when he was taken back into custody, the wool rumpled but miles better than orange scrubs, and his face was clean-shaven. But as Neal came closer, Peter could see that while his face wasn’t as gray and drawn as it had been, he was still pale, washed out, and far too thin. He was moving slowly as well, nearly shuffling even though his ankles weren’t encumbered with chains. Nonetheless, he flipped his hat onto his head and flashed a fake smile.

“Good to see you, Peter!” He smiled again, but as it slipped away, Peter could see the exhaustion lurking behind it.

“Good to see you, too. You think you’re ready to get back to work?”

“Absolutely!” Another one of the fake smiles Peter was already starting to hate.

Peter signed the last of the release forms then nodded at Neal. “Okay, let’s go. I’ll tell you about our current case on the drive back.”

The car was a long walk from the building, and Neal managed to match his pace to Peter’s for a while, but when Peter realized he was struggling he forced himself to slow down. By the time they reached the car, Neal was breathing heavily, though he was trying to hide it, and when Peter put a hand on his back to guide him into the passenger seat, he felt Neal trembling. By the time Peter got around to the driver’s side, Neal had his seat belt on, but his eyes were closed.

When Peter started the car, Neal opened his eyes and shook himself. “Where are we going? Is June—“

“June is delighted to have you back.

“That’s great.” Neal’s smile then was small but genuine. “So, tell me about the case.”

“You know, it’ll be easier when I can show you the visuals. Why don’t you just rest until we get back to the city?”

“But—“

“Just rest, Neal.”

Neal swallowed hard and nodded, and before they were outside the prison gates Neal had dozed off, his head leaning against the window. Peter had some calls to make, some serious tap-dancing to perform to get Neal some sick leave, but before he could deal with Hughes or Bancroft he had to talk to his wife. With Elizabeth, at least, he didn’t think there would be any convincing required. Neal looked like he was deep asleep, so Peter dialed El from his dashboard.

“Hey, hon! Hi, Neal!”

“Hey, hon. Neal’s here but he’s asleep.”

“Asleep? Oh, no. He’s not better, is he?”

“Not much, I don’t think. What do you think about—“

“Bring him to the house. That’s what you were going to ask, right?”

“Right. Maybe between the two of us we can help him get back to normal because he can’t work like this. And I don’t know.” Peter sighed. “I don’t know how much time they’ll give us.”

“You’ll work it out. And I’ll go to the store on my way home this afternoon. Oh, and I’ll see if June will let me pick up some clothes for him.”

“You know you’re the best wife ever?”

“I know,” El replied cheerfully. She was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke again the cheer was gone. “How bad is he?”

“Not good. This was bad timing, really bad timing. With Kate—“

“I know. Just get him as much time as you can, and it’ll be okay.”

“I’ll do my best.” Peter glanced over at Neal, still asleep against the door.

“I’ll see you later, hon. Both of you.”

El disconnected, and Peter thought about the calls he needed to make to negotiate some time for Neal to get his strength back. The shape he was in, Peter didn’t want Neal in the office, much less in the field. The wrangling itself was going to have to wait until they were home, because Peter didn’t want to risk either getting in an accident or waking Neal up when he was inevitably unable to control the volume of the conversation. Whatever he was going to say, he didn’t want Neal to have to hear it.

Neal slept for the whole ride on the highway and woke three blocks from the house when a cab blew its horn right next to them. “What?” He sat up and looked around. “Why are we in Brooklyn?”

“We’re going to my house for a while.”

“I thought you said that June would have me back?”

“She will. I’ll take you there if you really want, and we’ll figure something out, but Neal—“

“What? Is there a problem with the Marshals?”

“No. Hold on.” Peter saw a spot near the house and focused on parking for a moment before turning back to Neal. “Okay. Do you really think you’re ready to go back to work? You’re exhausted. Walking out of the prison wore you out.”

Neal sighed and looked down. “But the deal means I have to work.”

“It does, but I’m going to get you some time. I want you to stay here with us, let El feed you. You look—“

“I know. Can we just go inside?”

“Of course.” They got out of the car, and Peter shepherded Neal down the block and kept a hand on his back as they climbed the steps. Neal seemed to have a little bit more energy since his nap, but he still looked terribly weak and the last thing he needed to do was fall down the stairs.

Inside, Peter led Neal around Satchmo, who was far too excited for a dog his age, and over to the couch. Satchmo sat next to Neal’s legs and rested his head on Neal’s knee. Peter was about to shoo him away, but then Neal smiled, a real smile, and started scratching him behind the ears. _Good dog_ , Peter thought.

“What do you want for lunch? We’ve got, uh, some soup, yogurts—those Greek ones you got El hooked on, cereal, turkey and bread for sandwiches, I think. Or I could order something for delivery.”

"I think you left out the special of the day." Neal shook his head. "A yogurt would be good, thanks."

In the kitchen, Peter took a black cherry yogurt and a bottle of water out of the fridge, got a spoon from the drawer then took a deep breath and told himself to calm down. It was going to take a while to get Neal back to 100% but there was no emergency. Getting him back out of prison had been the most important step, and that was done. Peter handed the water and the container of yogurt over to Neal, then headed upstairs to change out of his suit since he was no longer planning on going into the office. When he came back down, Neal was still working on the yogurt.

"You doing okay with that?"

Neal nodded. "This is honestly the best thing I've tasted in two months."

Peter sat down on the other side of the couch. "Can we talk about this for a minute?"

"I'm not in much of a position to say no, am I?"

He wasn't wrong, but Peter didn't like thinking about it that way. "The main thing I want to know is if there's something specific going on here. Do you need me to get you in to see a doctor? I know you were sick a few weeks ago, but are you still sick, or is there something else?"

Neal took another spoonful of the yogurt then put it down on the end table. "When I got there, everything tasted like jet fuel. And then everything tasted like ash, and I didn't really care enough to push myself past that."

"And then you got sick."

"Right. I'd never--" Neal put a hand over his face and shook his head. "You might not believe it but when you saw me I was getting better. I felt like I was going to be completely hollow by the time it was over. And then I pretty much felt like I was. I've been trying since then, since you asked me to, but let's just say that prison food isn't the best thing when your stomach doesn't feel too comfortable with the idea of food."

"I can imagine. El's going to pick up some food that should be easier for you, but let me know if there's anything you want. Within reason. And if you don't feel better pretty quickly, we'll take you to get checked out."

"Thanks. Believe me, I don't like feeling like I need to take a nap after eating half a container of yogurt. I just didn't know how to make it better in there. I tried but--" Neal shook his head, looking exhausted.

"It was too much. And I'm sorry. It wasn't my call at the time, and you know I don't agree with all of the decisions you made, but you didn't deserve being sent back like that." Peter put his hand on Neal's shoulder. "And I'm sorry about Kate, too."

Neal's eyes turned glassy, and he looked away. "Thanks," he said, his voice sounding strangled.

Peter patted his shoulder and stood up. "Okay, do you want to lay down on the couch or head upstairs?"

"Here, if you don't mind."

"Sure." Peter brought over some blankets while Neal pulled off his jacket, tie and shoes and stretched out on the couch.

When Neal was situated and looked like he was falling asleep, Peter pulled out his phone and walked out onto the back patio. It was time to make the calls he'd been dreading since he first saw Neal's face that morning, but there was no getting around it. He ended up on a conference call with Hughes and Bancroft, and he paced while he talked, wandering inside to check on Neal while he was listening to his bosses and then heading back outside when it was his turn to talk. Satchmo followed him the first few times he stepped outside then gave up and stretched out on the floor next to the couch.

It wasn't a lot of fun, convincing his bosses that, despite all the favors they'd called in to get Neal back out of prison, he wasn't going to be immediately available to do any of the work Peter had argued was so necessary to the success of the White Collar division. He knew that Neal wouldn't appreciate having his emotional or physical state discussed by higher-ups at the FBI, but there was no getting around it. It was a risky gamble, but when Bancroft was hesitant to look at the human side of Neal Caffrey, Criminal Informant, Peter appealed to Hughes.

"Reese," he said, keeping his voice low and even, "when you lost Cindy you took time off to spend with your girls, and then you came back to the office where you could distract yourself with meaningful work. We took Neal from that airfield and put him in a box for the last few months. He'd planned to marry her when he finished his sentence, and I know it's easy to think of Neal as the eternal optimist but this has thrown him. It didn't help that he got sick in prison."

Both men were quiet for a moment and Peter walked back inside and snapped a picture of Neal where he lay sleeping. He e-mailed it to both of them and waited until he heard the echoed dings of new mail arriving on their desktops. "That's Neal Caffrey right now. He needs some time."

After that, it was just a matter of details. Peter agreed to ten days of complete leave for Neal, one week of working from home, and then light duty in the office until he could be cleared by medical. The catch was that first, Neal had to help them catch The Architect. Peter promised he'd make it happen, then hung up and called Diana. The plan to have Neal infiltrate one of the target banks was still a good one, but Neal was going to have to just consult on this rather than doing the work himself.

Diana agreed to come out to the house the next day with blueprints and the report on security procedures, and with that, Peter's work obligations for the day were done. He leaned against the kitchen counter and tried to figure out how this had happened--Neal Caffrey not broken but very much tattered around the edges sleeping on his couch, recuperating in his home. It felt surreal in so many ways, but Neal was real and in very real need of rest and refueling before he'd be anything like the same man he'd been before that plane exploded.

The front door opened, and Peter met El as she came through carrying a bag of groceries and a cake box. Peter grabbed a quick kiss and reached out to take the bag but El held it back. "There's more in the car, and a suitcase for Neal." She looked around the room then, her eyes full of worry. "How's he doing?"

"Sleeping, I think." Peter nodded over at the couch. "I'll be right back."

Peter emptied the car, bringing in the rest of the groceries and the suitcase full of Neal's clothes, and found El in the kitchen, sorting the groceries she'd brought in. "He looks awful." She shook her head, looking sad in a way that Peter hated to see. "But I'm glad he's here, and I had fun grocery shopping."

"You know normal people don't like grocery shopping, hon?"

"Then they don't know what they're missing. I got some really good yogurts--full-fat, do not touch, fruit, juice smoothies, ice cream, soup, lunch meat, bread, oatmeal. I got some lasagna for us for dinner, but I thought I'd see if Neal wanted soup."

Neal did want soup, and though he only ate a small bowl, it was a start. By the time Neal finally went off to bed in the guest room, El had talked him into a minuscule piece of cake and more yogurt. When he came back from taking a shower, Peter found El sitting in bed with her laptop.

"Working? Now?"

"Researching. I made a doctor's appointment for Neal, but it's not until next Monday, and I'm trying to figure out the right thing to do _now_. It seems like the most important thing is to get Neal to eat several small meals through the day since he can't eat a lot at one time." She looked up at Peter and frowned. "It feels wrong to be planning out what to feed Neal. He's an adult, it should be up to him, but--"

"But he needs help. And it is up to him, we just need to remind him. And make it easy." Peter climbed in bed as El closed her laptop and set it aside. "I wish I didn't have to make him focus on work tomorrow, but there's no getting around it."

"Look at it as a good excuse for working from home and keeping an eye on Neal."

"Good point." Peter kissed El goodnight and when she fell asleep in his arms Peter tried not to imagine what it would be like to lose her.

~~~

In the morning, Peter went downstairs to find Neal drinking tea on the deck in the back yard in his robe and pajamas with Satchmo at his feet and two strawberry tops sitting on the side of his saucer. At first glance, he looked 100% better, but when Peter sat down at the table with him to drink his first cup of coffee, he could see that while Neal did look much more rested, the deeper weariness was little changed.

"You sleep okay?"

Neal nodded. "It's funny how much you can miss sleeping in a real bed."

"Or maybe not so funny?"

Neal tilted his head in acknowledgement. "So, what's the situation with work?"

Peter hadn't wanted to push the subject the evening before, and Neal hadn't asked. "You're on leave for the rest of this week and all of next week, then you'll work from home for a week. After that, we'll need you back in the office, but field work will be contingent on medical clearance."

Neal blinked. "They--really? Wow." He looked down at his tea cup for a minute then back up at Peter. "Do you really think I need that long?"

"I think you probably do. It's demanding work, you know that. If we agree that you're ready before that, we can call it a pleasant surprise." Peter took a sip of his coffee then put it down and sighed. "There's just one catch. We have a time-sensitive case right now that's squarely in your wheelhouse. I had planned for you to take a major role in the investigation, and that's completely out of the picture but we need you to help out as a consultant working from here."

"Okay." Neal nodded hesitantly. "What kind of case?"

"Diana's going to be here with some of the case materials in about two and a half hours so we'll brief you then. What do you think about breakfast?"

"I think--" Neal looked like he was about to argue but Peter gave him a quelling look and he gave in. "Breakfast sounds good. But I can listen while I eat."

"Scrambled eggs? Toast?"

Neal nodded and Peter headed into the kitchen to cook. He heard El getting ready upstairs and put together her travel mug of coffee in between stirring the eggs and buttering the toast. She had a breakfast meeting in midtown, and as expected, she came hurrying down the stairs and gave Peter a quick kiss as she picked up the coffee.

"Thanks, hon! Tell Neal I said good morning. See you later!"

Peter smiled at the sight of her blowing through the house in her dress and heels then finished putting together their plates and poured a glass of juice for Neal. Back out on the deck, he found Neal nodding off over his half-empty tea cup. He was about to ask Neal if he'd really slept okay when he realized that Neal was just too worn down to have any kind of stamina. "Breakfast time," he said, and Neal opened his eyes as if he'd been wide awake the whole time.

"So this is what it's like to have a personal chef?"

"Don't get used to it." Peter put the juice and the plate with one piece of toast and about one scrambled egg in front of Neal, then sat down with his own plate. "By the way, El said to tell you good morning. She has a busy day."

Neal nodded and poked at the eggs before taking a small bite. "So, tell me about the case."

In between bites of his own breakfast, Peter gave Neal a rundown on The Architect. Neal listened and ate his way through most of the eggs and half the toast, and by the time Peter was done briefing him, Neal had pushed his plate away and appeared to be wilting in his chair as he fed his leftover toast to Satchmo.

"It's still almost two hours until Diana's supposed to get here. Why don't you go get some rest?"

"I've barely been up for two hours." Neal attempted to look morally outraged.

"Are you trying to tell me you're not tired?"

Neal raised his eyebrows then sighed and shook his head. "Okay. Wake me up if you don't hear the shower in an hour or so?"

"I will."

Peter tried not to obviously watch as Neal stood up and carried his dishes into the kitchen. He looked under the table at Satch. "You want to get out of here and take a walk? Yeah? Okay."

Peter walked Satchmo then changed into somewhat more work-appropriate clothes, and 40 minutes before Diana was due to arrive he heard Neal moving around upstairs. When he came downstairs dressed in one of his best suits, complete with tie, pocket square and shined shoes, Peter opened his mouth to make a comment about overkill. Then, when Diana showed up in her usual office attire and looked at Neal with pity for just a second before shutting it down, Peter understood that the clothes were armor, Neal's protection against looking as vulnerable as he was.

Peter had been worried that Neal wouldn't be able to help them work out a plan for catching The Architect, but Neal came through. He pored over the bank blueprints and security specs, formulated a plan for exploiting the bank's weaknesses, and coached Diana on what she'd have to do each step of the way. It was good to see Neal working, his eyes alive as he ran through the possibilities and joked with Diana. It was a con so thorough that Neal conned himself into using energy he didn't have. He was fading already by the time Diana was packing up the files and rolling the plans back up into a tube, and when Peter came back from seeing Diana out, he found Neal asleep sitting up at the table, his head tilted back at an angle that hurt to look at and his body just starting to list to the side.

He was deeply asleep, but Peter managed to get him to a groggy state of wakefulness where he could keep his feet under him long enough for Peter to half-carry him back over to the couch. Neal fell asleep again immediately, little more than a ragdoll as Peter pulled off his shoes and loosened his tie before pulling a blanket over him.

Two hours later, Neal shuffled past the table where Peter was using his laptop to coordinate with the team. He looked all of ten years old, in socked feet and his rumpled, too-large suit. Ten years old, or eighty.

"I can make you something to eat. Sit down and I'll get it in a few minutes."

Neal ran a hand through his unruly hair. "I can find something. I'm really hungry actually. Unless you don't want me in the fridge?"

"No, of course, take anything you want."

Neal nodded and went back to the kitchen while Peter worked through some more of the documents Jones had sent. He wasn't paying particular attention to what Neal was doing, but he heard the expected sounds of the fridge opening and closing, plates and utensils rattling against each other, and then the silence of eating. Then there was a low moan and Peter stood up in time to see Neal slam himself into the counter as he lunged to throw up in the sink.

He debated leaving Neal to it, letting him hold on to some semblance of dignity, but even from across the room Peter could see Neal's arms shaking where they were planted on the counter, holding him up. A few quick steps took Peter to Neal's side, and he put his hand on Neal's back as he retched again, nothing but bile. "Come on, you need to sit down."

Neal shook his head, though Peter didn't think he was responding to his words as much as the whole situation. He pushed himself up straight then wavered in place, his eyes half-closed.

"Whoa, hey." Peter got a hold of Neal under his armpits and levered him down to sit on the floor, leaning against the cabinets. Neal was breathing shakily but didn't seem like he was going to pass out all the way so Peter ran the water and the garbage disposal in the sink for a few seconds to get rid of the mess, then got Neal a cup of room-temperature water from the filter. He looked at Neal's plate sitting on the island--pizza, not a good idea.

When Peter sat down on the floor, Neal had his hands over his face and was breathing into his palms. "Do you feel like you're going to be sick some more?"

"No." Neal's voice was low and rough.

"I guess that pizza was just too much."

"You think?" Neal swallowed hard and dropped his hands from his face. "I was just hungry. Really hungry, and the pizza looked good."

"Well, it's good that you were hungry. You just need to give yourself some time to get up to speed."

"Clearly." Neal started to push himself up from the floor, and Peter got up to help him.

"Why don't you go clean up and change into some more comfortable clothes then come back and let me pick your brain. The team has been e-mailing me questions that you can answer better than anyone."

Neal nodded, and when he came back downstairs he looked equally exhausted but less rumpled and ruined. He sipped at mint tea with honey and looked at the newspaper in between answering Peter's questions. Peter didn't love the fact that he was going to have to go into work the next day and leave Neal alone, but Neal was a grown man after all. He needed rest and good food and peace, and Peter could only hope that everything else would take care of itself.

~~~

The Architect was caught, and with that obligation off their backs Neal was able to settle into the job of resting and building up his strength. Peter had a feeling that Neal was following Satchmo's lead for the next few days--sleeping most of the day while Peter and El were at work. They kept a variety of easy snacks and small meals on hand for Neal, and after a few days he was looking better though he clearly still had a long way to go. Peter made a few awkward attempts to talk about Kate or about Neal's emotional state in general, but Neal froze him out every time.

Staying home with Neal those two days had translated into Peter having to work through the weekend, but he came home Saturday afternoon to find Neal, El and Mozzie sitting at the table out back with a bottle of wine and some snacks. Peter wasn't too sure that it was a great idea for Neal to be drinking, but El warded off his concern with a look.

Neal gave Peter his best innocent look. "It's medicinal!"

"Sure it is." Peter shook his head and went inside to change, and he was somehow unsurprised to find Mozzie waiting for him in the upstairs hallway when he left his bedroom. "Looking for something?"

Mozzie crossed his arms over his chest, them uncrossed them and adjusted his glasses. "He looks awful. What did you do to him?"

"He looks better than he did a few days ago, and what I did was get him out of the prison that was making him sick. You know I didn't want him sent back there. Especially not after Kate."

Mozzie harrumphed and sighed. "I know. You're going to fix this?"

"I'm going to try. Look, Neal's going to be here recuperating for the next week. If you can, come by and distract him for a while. He's sleeping a lot, but he'd probably appreciate the company."

Mozzie relaxed a little at that. "I'll take that under consideration."

"Good. We should get back downstairs before Neal thinks I've kidnapped you."

"As if this house could hold me."

When they got back outside, Neal was asleep in his chair and El was finishing off his glass of wine. Peter was glad that Neal had another week of rest before he'd be expected to put in full workdays from home, and he could only hope that a week would be enough time.

The week started with taking Neal to be checked out medically, and Neal was about as pleased by that as Peter expected. The verdict was considerably better than what it likely would have been the day Neal got out of prison; Neal was underweight with mild anemia and low blood pressure, but none of it was dire. In addition to good food and rest, the doctor recommended light exercise and sent Neal on his way with an appointment for two weeks later. She didn't mention anything about the mental or emotional side of the coin, and Peter hadn't been in on the exam itself, but he could only assume that Neal had deflected any concern with his calming smile and the true story of the brutal stomach virus he'd contracted in prison.

The fact that Neal was up to even that very small con was encouraging enough that Peter let it go. Neal had the remainder of the week to rest and then a week to work from home, and they all knew what was at stake. It was less encouraging that Neal fell asleep in the car before Peter could even get out of the parking lot, but if the waiting and worrying had left Peter feeling drained it was clearly worse for Neal, not to mention the indignities of being examined and having blood drawn. He woke Neal when they were a few blocks away from the house, and Neal startled awake, bumping his elbow against the car door.

"Sorry," he said.

"Shouldn't that be my line? I didn't mean to surprise you."

"No, I'm sorry for falling asleep. I'm sorry for what you've had to do for me. I know that whoever approved this deal expected for me to be useful."

"For one thing, you've already been useful. For another, we're not too short-sighted to see that it's worth investing some time into getting you back up to speed so you can be more useful later. If I thought you were malingering, you'd already be at the office, up to your ears in scut work."

"And you would know." The words should've been a challenge, but they sounded more like a hope, a request for confirmation.

"I would know," Peter agreed.

Neal continued his recuperation over the course of the week, and his physical improvement was easy to see in the healthy color in his face and the returning energy in his eyes, as well as the steadiness of his steps. He kept to the schedule of several small meals each day, and as far as Peter knew, Neal's stomach was accepting the food with no more than token resistance. Neal took unhurried evening walks with Peter and El, and if he wasn't his usual dazzling self he was present and functioning, far better than he'd been the day he dragged himself up the steps to their front door.

Peter was confident that Neal would be able to keep to the schedule of working from home for a week then returning to the office on light duty until he was released by the doctor. He saw the signs that weren't improving--the occasional shaking of Neal's hands, the shadows under his eyes--but he wasn't going to push things with Neal unless the situation changed.

Thursday night, Peter got home late after a long stake-out in the van with his newest probie. Sitting around for hours with some kid born in 1987 made Peter miss Neal keenly, even though he'd seen Neal just that morning. When he walked into the house well after midnight, Peter expected to find everybody asleep and it wasn't until he walked out of the kitchen with a beer in his hand that he realized Neal was sitting on the sofa with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. The lines of his body were too stiff for Neal to be asleep, but Peter approached him as he might a sleepwalker.

"Neal," he said quietly as he slowed his approach and stood a few feet away. "Neal?"

"I'm awake," Neal said, the words muffled by his hands.

"I can tell." Taking Neal's relative silence as an invitation, Peter sat on the unoccupied side of the couch. He sat and listened to Neal breathe, his inhalations and exhalations holding together in a forced rhythm but still ragged around the edges. "I don't guess you were waiting up for me," he said when the lack of words began to feel awkward.

"I'm okay." Neal sat up then, surreptitiously wiping his face with his hands as he did. The only light came from outside, from the range light in the kitchen and from the electronics, and it was enough to see Neal's movements but not his face. Peter wondered if he was taking advantage of the cover of darkness to let his emotions show on his face or if he had to control his face to control his voice.

"Bad dream?" Peter had been surprised that Neal's sleep wasn't disturbed after the trauma he had been through, but it was beginning to look like Neal's physical exhaustion had been keeping his dreams quiet. Now that Neal's body was on the mend, his mind was free to let its cracks show. Peter understood the timing, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

"Something like that." Peter reached over to put his hand on Neal's back, but Neal pulled away and stood, turning his back to Peter. "I need to go back to bed."

"You know you came down here because you wanted to talk to me."

Neal paused then shook his head and walked up the stairs without another word.

On Friday, Peter got home just as Mozzie left the house, looking as squirrelly as if he had broken in. As Peter got closer, he saw that Mozzie looked annoyed as well. "What happened?"

Mozzie hunched in his coat and looked back at the house. "Nothing."

"So he's not talking to you either?"

"If he were, I wouldn't be at liberty to say."

Peter took a deep breath and shook off his desire to pull Mozzie into an interrogation room. "Come on, I'm just trying to help him here."

Mozzie sighed heavily and looked at Peter sharply. "As Jefferson said, nothing on earth can help the man with the wrong mental attitude."

"Great. I'm worried about him."

"You're not alone," Mozzie snapped, then he took off down the street.

The weekend was less than comfortable, with Neal's refusal to talk about what was going on hanging over the house. Peter heard him roaming the house at night, and when he tried to bring up the subject Neal started making noises about moving back to June's. He gave up the subject easily, convincing Peter all the more that space wasn't what Neal needed.

The only reason Peter didn't push harder at Neal's walls was that he was eating. There didn't seem to be much pleasure in it for him, no joy at the special things El brought for him, but he ate steadily, meals and snacks, and his body began to look less delicate. If sometimes Neal ate grimly, like a man feeding fuel into a fire, Peter thought it was better than the alternative.

Peter spent Sunday evening worrying about what would happen if Neal wasn't up to working from home, but on Monday he found that the worry was unnecessary. One of the probies delivered a few boxes of files to the house, and Neal seemed, if anything, improved by having real work to concentrate on. They worked from the dining room table, Peter taking care of his work on the laptop while Neal studied files. Neal flagged after lunch, nearly falling asleep over the file he was reading. He looked mulish when Peter told him to go take a nap on the couch, but he went without arguing, and when Peter looked over at him, he was asleep.

Even after having Neal in the house for nearly two weeks, it still felt strange sometimes. Peter had liked Neal from the beginning, and the friendship they'd formed in the first months of working together had been surprising but welcome. When Peter started the process of getting Neal back out of prison, he'd expected to renew that friendship and hopefully build up more mutual trust. But now Neal was in his home, in his care and in his wife's care, and it didn't feel like friendship anymore. Somehow, Neal Caffrey had become a member of the family, and Peter didn't know what to do with that.

Peter invited the core team to the house for afternoon meetings and watched Neal to see how he did with more people around, more demands on his attention and energy. His stamina improved day by day, and at least while they were working, the light in Neal's eyes outshone the shadows. Peter felt like they'd dodged a bullet; Hughes was a good man but he had people to answer to just as much as Peter did. Compassion only went so far in a bureaucracy, and Peter didn't want to find that limit, not with Neal.

When the team left the house each day, Neal would deflate, and Peter was sure that a lot of that was still the physical exhaustion. Neal made a habit of disappearing up to the guest room until dinner time, and Peter hoped he was using that time to catch up on some of the sleep he was losing at night. Neal looked cornered every time Peter alluded to his trouble sleeping, and he wouldn't admit to having nightmares, but he didn't deny them either. In the earliest hours of Friday morning, Peter woke up to the demands of his bladder and stumbled into the bathroom, nearly colliding with Neal who was leaning on the sink, staring at the mirror in the dim blue glow of the night light.

"What? Neal?"

Neal startled and stood up, crossing his arms over his bare chest as he took a shaky breath. In the blue light Neal looked frozen, dead, and Peter rubbed a hand over his face to wake himself up. "Okay." He took Neal's arm and guided him to the hallway. "Wait right here."

Neal nodded absently, and Peter ducked back into the bathroom for a minute. When he opened the door again, Neal was leaning against the wall waiting for him; Neal opened his eyes as Peter stepped through the doorway. "Sorry for surprising you," he said, his voice rough.

"Don't worry about it. Were you sick?"

"No. I'm fine." Neal crossed his arms over his chest again. "I should let you go back to bed."

"You know, I'm pretty awake right now, so I'm going to check and see if Satch needs to go out then make something to drink. Join me?"

Neal looked away then nodded. "Give me a minute."

"Sure." Peter watched as Neal went into the guest room, and by the time he reached the bottom of the stairs he heard Neal behind him. Satchmo was curled up on his bed and looked up at their approach but then went back to sleep. Neal had on a robe and slippers now with his sleep pants, but he still looked cold so Peter nodded over at the sofa. "Hot chocolate?"

Neal agreed, and Peter went into the kitchen to make their drinks. When he carried the two mugs into the living room a few minutes later, he found Neal with an afghan pulled around his shoulders and his feet tucked under his legs. Peter sat down and realized that they were on the same sides of the couch as they'd been that night a week earlier; he could only hope Neal would open up a little bit more this time. They both quietly sipped at their drinks for a few minutes before Neal broke the silence.

"I don't want to talk about the nightmares."

"Okay." Peter was stunned that Neal would be open enough to admit the existence of nightmares with prodding, but he couldn't help thinking there wasn't much point if Neal wouldn't discuss them. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"You want me to leave you alone?"

Neal didn't answer for a moment, then he looked over at Peter before looking away again. "No, not really."

"Okay then." Peter leaned back and propped his feet up on the coffee table. He turned the TV on with subtitles then found something that didn't look very historical to watch on the History Channel. Dawn would come soon enough, but they still had some night left, and when Peter looked back over at Neal he was asleep

Later in the morning, the team assembled at the house again, but by early afternoon everybody other than Peter and Neal was off to make an arrest. Peter was nearly done with his administrative duties, but there was one thing he couldn't finish without being on the secure server in the office. He thought about heading in by himself, but Neal had barely been out of the neighborhood since his release and it was time for him to get a taste of the ever-so-slightly-wider world.

"Do I look okay?" Neal asked when Peter let him know they'd been leaving soon.

Neal wasn't dressed to the nines, but as usual he managed to look elegant even in jeans and a sweater. "You're fine. You don't need to wear a suit to spend half an hour in the office."

"I mean--" Neal raised his eyebrows and gestured at himself before continuing more quietly. "Do I look _okay_?"

Peter resisted the urge to wave off the question and looked at Neal consideringly. His face was still thinner than it should have been, but his cheeks were no longer so drawn and his color was good other than the dark circles under his eyes. He was steady on his feet and had enough energy to get through the day; everything else was covered up by good clothes and fairly convincing smiles. "You look a lot better," Peter said slowly. "You look okay."

They had just entered the bullpen, and Neal was looking pleased that his desk was set up for him again, even while he was radiating tension. Before they could talk to anybody else, Hughes stepped out of his office and summoned them with a double finger-point. They sighed in tandem and climbed the stairs, but when they got to the top Hughes waved Peter away to his own office. "I want to talk to Caffrey," he said in his dry voice that gave no hint to what he had in mind--a welcome back, an interrogation, or something else.

Neal looked at Peter with wide eyes then turned to Hughes and nodded confidently. "Absolutely."

"Are you sure--"

"Peter, I know you have work to do." Hughes was implacable. There was nothing for Peter to do but shrug and walk off to his own office.

Thanks to the open plan of the office, Peter could see what was happening in the other office, but the angle of his desk was all wrong to observe them covertly so he had to limit himself to occasional glimpses. When he looked back after getting logged in to his computer, Neal was sitting in one of Hughes' visitor's chairs and Hughes was behind his desk holding one of the framed photos he usually kept there. The next time Peter looked, Hughes was sitting in the second visitor's chair next to Neal, turned in the seat so that their knees almost touched.

When Peter was finished with his work, he walked down the hall as Neal and Hughes stood and shook hands. Hughes opened the door just before Peter could knock. Both of them looked a little bit damp around the eyes, but Neal seemed more settled than he had in days. "Is everything okay?"

"I think so." Hughes nodded and patted Neal on the back. "Caffrey?"

"Thank you, sir," Neal answered, and Peter didn't think there was a trace of his usual bullshit.

"You'll remember what I said?"

Neal nodded slowly. "I will."

"Good. I expect to see you both in here first thing Monday morning. Now get the hell out of my office."

In the elevator, Peter got tired of waiting for Neal to explain. "So what was all that about? Are there any new problems here?"

"No. No, he was just talking to me. Nothing exciting."

"Okay." Peter wanted to know more but he knew when not to press.

In the car, Neal seemed distracted, looking out the window at the city going by. "I didn't know he'd lost his wife," he said out of nowhere while they were crossing the bridge.

 _Oh,_ Peter thought, finally understanding what had gone on in that office. It was a surprise, but then he thought that maybe it shouldn't have been. "Yeah, a few years ago."

Neal didn't say anything else until Peter was cruising slowly down their street looking for a parking spot. "I'm going to move back to June's tomorrow. If that's okay."

"You can stay another week if you want." 

"I'm ready," Neal said, and Peter thought that maybe he was.

As far as Peter could tell, Neal slept through the night. El didn't have any events to manage, so she treated them all to a big breakfast. Peter was in the middle of concentrating on his bacon--he got to have it so rarely anymore--when El tapped his foot from across the table. He looked up to see her watching Neal, and the reason was clear. As Peter watched, trying not to stare, Neal took a forkful of the delicate crepes El had made to pair with fresh strawberry compote, and as he chewed he closed his eyes, the corners of his mouth turned up and his shoulders relaxed.

Neal swallowed, and when he opened his eyes he caught Peter and El watching him. "What?" he said, all innocence and confusion. "These are really good."

El smiled, looking pleased with herself, and Peter felt a lump in his throat that he wouldn't have wanted to admit to under oath. "They are," he agreed, and if Neal wondered why Peter's voice was rough he didn't ask. "They sure are."


End file.
